Just One Kiss (Very Irresistible Bachelors Book 2) Page 2

  None of that is my responsibility.

  I couldn’t believe he was just brushing us off like that. I pressed a palm on my stomach to stop feeling the knot in it. I remembered the guy who’d stepped in. A complete stranger had cared enough to ask Gerald to apologize. The longer I rewound the scene in my mind, the antsier I became. Gerald had pushed him. Crap! Was the guy okay? Why hadn’t I thought about this before?

  I googled the name of the bar and called them, clasping my phone tightly.

  “Northern Lights. How can I help you?” a female voice asked.

  “I was wondering... I was at your bar two evenings ago. My ex-boyfriend caused a ruckus. Security stepped in.”

  “I remember.”

  “A man tried to intervene. My ex pushed him. Do you know if he’s okay?”

  “Oh, that was Ryker. He performs here sometimes. He was okay. Nothing some ice couldn’t solve. Beer spilled all over his guitar though.”

  Shit. That didn’t sound like he was okay at all.

  “I’m so sorry about that. The guitar still works?”

  “It was electric, so I’m not sure. He took it to a repair shop.”

  Damn, I had to make it up to him. If the guitar needed replacement or repairs, I had to pay for it.

  “When is he performing next?”

  “Tomorrow. His set starts at eight.”

  “Thank you.” I placed the phone back on the table, poured myself another glass of wine. I vaguely remembered the guy: dark blond hair, absolutely gorgeous blue eyes. Hmmm... maybe I was building him up in my mind, with a little creative help from Mr. Sauvignon Blanc here. Oh well, I’d find out tomorrow.

  I twirled the glass between my fingers, looking around with a smile. I was determined to focus on all the amazing things in my life: I had an adorable girl I loved to the moon and back, a great job, and a brand-new apartment.

  Welcome to the new chapter in my life!

  Chapter Three

  Ryker

  It was Thursday, and I couldn’t wait to get on stage. The pressure on Wall Street was relentless. Having a way to let off steam was crucial, and for me, it was this. Performing for a crowd gave me the release I needed. And as an added bonus, it also gave me a chance to get out of a suit. I’d never been a fan of the financial district’s uniform. I took my guitar, stepping on stage with the other guys I usually played with: a vocalist, Josh, and a drummer, Steve.

  The second my fingers strummed over the cords, my muscles loosened, the strain leaving my body. All thoughts of Wall Street drifted to the back of my mind. The company was in hot water because one of the other investment directors had just been fired for screwing over a client to maximize his own bonus. Everyone was worried about the company’s image. I was too, but I was also pissed that the client was now in financial trouble because of a greedy moron. As I’d predicted, the bruised cheek earned me glares from colleagues and clients alike.

  Tension was high, but now it was just me and the guitar, the music. The crowd was thinner than usual tonight. I scanned the room, soaking in the energy of the place, of the patrons dancing to our beat. My gaze rested on a petite woman leaning against the bar.

  Were my eyes playing tricks because I’d wanted to find her so badly, or was my mystery woman in the crowd? No, there she was: brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, smiling and drumming her fingers on the counter. I scanned those around her quickly. Douchebag wasn’t anywhere in sight. Fuck, yes.

  I loved being on stage, but I’d never wanted to leave it more than I wanted to now. I didn’t want to lose her again. I kept my eyes trained on her, ready to follow her if she left.

  When the set was over, I practically jumped off the stage, making a beeline for her. She didn’t move. Instead, her smile widened.

  “Mystery girl,” I exclaimed when I reached her. Damn, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. I hadn’t looked close enough before to notice her sexy curves. She was wearing a tight dress that teased enough of her cleavage to tempt me to look more, but I fought to maintain eye contact.

  She laughed softly. “What?”

  “I don’t know your name.”

  “Heather.”

  “I’m Ryker.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh?”

  “I asked the manager about you.”

  “Music to my ears.”

  “I feel guilty about that. Is it the one the beer spilled over?” She pointed to my guitar.

  “No, that’s in a repair shop.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. My guy says he can fix it.”

  “Well, I feel guilty anyway.”

  “Not your fault. It’s that douchebag’s.”

  She lowered her gaze, shrinking into herself right before my eyes. I wasn’t going to allow it.

  “I’ll pay for the repairs,” she said.

  “Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”

  “I insist.” She held her chin high, pressing her lips together.

  “Not negotiating.”

  “Let me at least buy you a drink, then.”

  “A lady never pays.” I tilted toward her. Her eyes widened in surprise. She smelled like flowers and cinnamon, and I barely refrained from inching even closer, invading her personal space.

  “Even if she is indirectly responsible for your guitar being in the repair shop?”

  “Even then.”

  She played with a strand of her hair, giving me a guarded smile. I wanted a real one.

  “So how am I supposed to assuage my conscience, then?”

  I leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “We can work that out. I will buy you a drink.”

  “What’s in it for you?” She tilted her head lightly to one side. Her hair drifted from her shoulder down to her back. One single strand got caught on the shell of her ear. My fingers itched to push it away, to touch her.

  “We’ll see.”

  She laughed, and I detected a light blush in her cheeks. I just couldn’t keep myself from flirting with her. I wasn’t the Flirt for nothing. She was beautiful and newly single. I only interrupted our eye contact to drop my gaze to her mouth. She licked her lips, exhaling sharply. I could feel her about to give in.

  “You win,” she whispered. I smiled triumphantly. Her voice bordered on disbelief, but that brilliant smile was a sure sign that she liked my balls-to-the-walls approach to... everything.

  We climbed on barstools, looking at the cocktail list. The beauty of not being able to drive in Manhattan was that you didn’t have to worry about drinking and driving.

  I was close enough to smell that intoxicating mix of flowers and cinnamon again. Perfumes weren’t something I usually noticed, but hers was messing with my senses. She was messing with my senses. Everything from her unassuming beauty to her showing up here to buy me a drink surprised me.

  “What are we drinking?”

  “You’re trusting me to pick your drink?” I teased.

  “You do know this place better than I do. Plus, I think you’re trustworthy.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Half my family would disagree with you.”

  “And the other half?”

  “Would probably tell you to wait until the end of the evening to decide if I’m trustworthy or not.”

  “Oh, crap. I’m in big trouble, huh?”

  I wiggled my eyebrows.

  “Huge.”

  She shook her head but didn’t say anything.

  We ended up ordering Mojitos—the Northern Lights made the best one in the city.

  “So how large is your family?” Heather asked after a few drinks. The crowd in the bar thinned even more, but honestly, I was barely aware of what was going on around us. She was just too captivating.

  “Two sisters, two brothers. Well, three. We have a cousin here too, but I consider him like a brother.”

  “I see. So three versus two, huh? And you don’t think the balance would tip in your favor?”

  “That should tell you some
thing.”

  She whistled loudly. “I don’t know, Ryker. I think this is more than I can handle.”

  “Oh, you’re handling me just fine.” I tapped my temple. “Ah, forgot to add Mom to the mix. She’d definitely be on the team warning you off.”

  “Ouch. So not even your folks think you’re trustworthy?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  She held her drink up and we clinked glasses.

  “Do you have another set tonight?” she asked.

  “Yes, but later on.”

  “I like to hear you play. You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “All in all, about eight years, but I’ve taken breaks.”

  “That’s a commitment.”

  I liked Heather. It was so easy to talk to her. I realized she probably thought I was some artist living on tips, and I couldn’t rectify that right now. Working my occupation as a venture capitalist in the conversation would make me sound like a douchebag bragging about his job.

  When her glass was empty, she looked at it regretfully. “I need to go.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Ryker....”

  “You said you like to hear me play. I still have that one set coming up.”

  “I know, but it’s late.”

  It was barely nine.

  “What’s your favorite song? I’ll convince the guys to play it.”

  Her mouth formed an O. “Are you trying to trick me into staying?”

  “Yes. I’d try to do it with food, but they only serve burgers around here, and they’re nothing to brag about. Don’t tell anyone I said that, or they’ll kick me out of here.”

  “I’ll keep your secret.”

  “So. Favorite song.” I slid off my chair too, stepping right in front of her. I needed to win her over. No way was I ready for my time with her to end.

  “I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

  For the first time ever, I was tempted to ditch the guys, just to spend time with her, walk her home, whatever. But I couldn’t let the guys down, and I had the feeling that Heather wouldn’t want me to. This was New York City. Letting a stranger walk you home could be dangerous.

  “How guilty do you feel?” I asked.

  She frowned. “Huh?”

  “Guilty enough to give me your phone number?”

  Her frown melted, giving way to a smile. She rattled off her number, and I immediately typed it on my phone. The guys called me on the stage.

  “When are you picking up your guitar from the repair shop?” she asked.

  “On Monday at seven. Why?”

  “I’ll come with you. I’m paying for that.”

  “Not what we agreed on earlier.”

  She shrugged, smiling. “I was just pretending to agree. Thought you’d be more willing to play along after a drink.”

  “See you on Monday, then. I’ll text you the name and address of the repair shop,” I said, walking backward toward the stage. Laughing, I realized she was just as good at getting her way as I was. I still wasn’t going to let her pay for it, but she’d just given me the perfect excuse to see her again.

  Chapter Four

  Heather

  I swooned all the way home. On the train, I tipped a busker generously when she sang one of my favorites from Whitney Houston. It made me think about Ryker and wonder what they’d played after I left the bar. I hadn’t built him up in my mind; quite the contrary. Some delicious details about him hadn’t registered that first night, but there was no forgetting them now.

  I hurried from the station to my building. Even though it was March, the wind was still cold and cutting, seeping into my flesh and bones. I had a thick jacket over my dress, but I wished I’d had on an extra layer of clothes. Brrr. If I could, I’d hibernate from November to April.

  When I reached my apartment, Natasha, my neighbor, gave me the rundown of how the evening went before going back to her apartment. She was a friend from my spin class, and she was the one who’d told me this unit was free. A single woman who loved kids, she was the perfect resident babysitter for the occasions when I needed someone.

  Avery was sleeping already, so I was on my own for the rest of the evening. Of course I couldn’t stop thinking about Ryker. Just remembering the way his eyes had glinted when he’d asked for my number was enough to make me shiver—as if he was silently making me promises. Sinful promises. Nope. Won’t go there. And I was supposed to see him on Monday? That just spelled danger... of the hot and sizzling variety.

  Before going to bed, I riffled through my mail, and my heart nearly stopped when I discovered an envelope from my landlord. With shaky hands, I opened the letter.

  Please don’t let this be what I think. Please, please, please.

  It was exactly what I’d feared. My landlord was asking for proof that I can afford the apartment on my own.

  The rent contract had been in both mine and Gerald’s name. I’d texted Gerald yesterday, asking him to hold off on contacting the landlord until I could find a solution. He’d done the exact opposite.

  I crumpled the paper in my fist, before taking my anger out on it, ripping it into tiny, tiny little pieces. That piece of shit.

  Finding a new place to live in the size I wanted would be difficult. Most landlords find it too risky to rent a large apartment to a single-income household. What if one gets fired?

  As a reporter for a national newspaper, I made excellent money. The problem was that half of my income came in the form of a bonus paid at the end of the year, so the actual salary wasn’t the least bit attractive for a landlord. The other problem was that the living costs in New York were ridiculous.

  Tendrils of panic crawled up my throat at the prospect of apartment hunting all over again. Sighing, I dropped onto my couch.

  This was a setback, all right, but I only needed a minute to regroup. Just one minute, and then I’d kick ass, as usual. I closed my eyes, leaning against the headrest. An image of Ryker popped in my mind.

  No, sexy-as-hell guitar player. You can absolutely not hijack my thoughts. I need to focus.

  Aha, that didn’t help. Not one bit. That wicked smile, the dangerous allure surrounding him were just branded in my mind. Every time he’d leaned closer to me tonight, he’d looked as if he’d had every intention of kissing me.

  A shiver ran through me. I pressed my thighs together, trying to gather my wits. I blinked my eyes open. Yup. Much better. I couldn’t daydream about Ryker if I stared at my TV console. Clearing my throat, I grabbed my laptop. I could get us through this! I’d done it before, when the odds had been stacked against me: finding out I was pregnant had been a surprise, as had been Avery’s father bailing on me... I’d gotten through that, and I would get us through this too. I wouldn’t lie to myself though, I was daydreaming about a future where I wasn’t one bonus away from financial disaster. At twenty-eight, I still wasn’t quite there, but I knew I’d reach that point one day.

  Opening my laptop, I sent an email to my editor, Danielle, right away, pitching her ten ideas. I was assigned stories, but initiative was encouraged. I finished the email by explaining my situation and that I needed at least half the bonus paid now. Her bosses had promised they’d raise my base salary this year, make it less dependent on the bonus. They’d been dangling that carrot in front of my nose for a while.

  I was still so wired up from the letter that I couldn’t go to bed, couldn’t wind down. What my landlord needed was the certainty that I could cover my rent.

  Thoughts of what could happen wouldn’t quit... the big one being, what if my boss said no?

  Getting a second job seemed impossible, but so was sharing the apartment with someone else. I didn’t want a stranger around my daughter. A second job would mean that I’d spend even less time with Avery.

  Tears threatened my composure. Why couldn’t things just work out easily, just this once? I dreamed about a more relaxed life... perhaps sharing
that future with someone. But that was just wishful thinking. Right now, I had to find a solution to our predicament.

  What if I managed to get a job later at night, after putting Avery to bed? And maybe I could pay Natasha to just stay in the apartment with her until I returned?

  A bartending job, perhaps? The Northern Lights came to mind. I’d done that until three years ago, when I’d been promoted from junior to senior reporter. But I could do it again—a second contract would prove to any potential landlord that I had a safety net. I was grasping at straws, but I just had to exhaust every possibility.

  Breathe in, breathe out, Heather. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that. But I hadn’t gotten to where I was by waiting. I liked to be one step ahead, make contingency plans. I grabbed the phone, intending to call the manager of the Northern Lights. I’d saved her number when I’d called to ask when Ryker was performing.

  When I unlocked the screen, I discovered a message.

  Ryker: I had a great time tonight. I can’t wait to see you again.

  A shiver ran through me, followed by a wave of heat. I held my breath, thumbs hovering above my screen. Was it wrong to indulge in a little flirting?

  Heather: Who is this?

  Ryker: Ouch. You have so many dates in one evening?

  I grinned. I should just ask him to tell me the address of the repair shop, which was the reason I’d given him my number in the first place, but instead, I typed something else.

  Heather: I didn’t know that was a date.

  Ryker: You’re right. A date ends with a kiss. Dirty and deep, making you long for more.

  Holy hell! I could practically feel his lips on mine. I was on fire. On freaking fire. My skin was sizzling, the tips of my breasts turned sensitive. The brush of my bra was torture. This was getting out of hand. I had no idea what to write back.

  Next thing I knew, I had an incoming call from Ryker. I seriously considered not answering. Surely, the sound of his voice wasn’t going to improve... anything. But it would be rude to ignore the call. Plus... I wanted to hear his voice. It was just a call.